Dragon Age Origins: The Tainted and the Damned
by T.J Shooter
Summary: The Dragon Age world is about to get turned on its head. Seven wardens, all origins and original characters coming out of the kazoo. There is an untapped well of epic-ness to be had. And that wells about to be bled dry.


To say the soil of Thedes ran solid to its very core would be a foolish notion. To say that nothing beyond unmovable dirt and unbreakable stone laid below the surface world would, too, be a foolish notion: the simple fact, was that the sturdy dwarven folk had long since laid claim to Thedes sub-terrain.

They had smashed, they had built, they had dug and they had sculpted. The dwarven folk were true craftsman and peerless innovators - the stone and dirt was their own, and they commanded it so.

Tunnels were built, more spacious than any would deem necessary, stretching to places once known, yet now lost and forgotten. And the thaigs; kingdoms of carved stone and unparalleled fortitude erected as a testament to time - still they stand strong, even out lasting the inhabitants who once walked behind their walls.

Truly the underground of Thedes was hollow, excavated and bustling with life as it was.

Magnificence in all senses.

But time is a harsh mistress, harsh and unforgiving. It brings about inevitable change, the change of everything.

Like the disease it was, the darkspawn spread. Twisting, corrupting, and destroying everything in their path. Where they truly came from . . . nobody knew. Myths and stories attempted to explain their origins, but none held the real truth. These were tales spun with little more than greed and worship in mind.

The truth though, and perhaps the only one that mattered, was that the darkspawn were unstoppable. They swarmed the deep roads tunnels, digging deeper and deeper, searching and spreading their taint.

Taint that desired the song: the call of the Old Gods.

Buried further than the stout dwarven folk dare dig, slept the powerful and ancient Tevinter gods, worshiped as the bringers of magic in the bodies of mighty dragons.

Or so the rumors go.

The darkspawn, mindless and crazed as they were, cared not for what those gods once garnered, they cared only for the unquenchable desire of the song. It called to them, drew them closer like a sweet ecstasy only they could indulge in.

And so they dug with claws and hands and gnashing teeth, until the Old Gods were found and washed over with the very taint each darkspawn holds.

Twisted beyond recognition the Old Gods rose, as Archdemons.

Dumat was the first. The god of silence wrought nothing but death and corruption, leading the darkspawn to war. One after one the dwarven kingdoms fell. Walls once thought to be impenetrable crashed down and the dwarven armies were left slaughtered, returned to the stone from which they came.

And with the once mighty race in shambles, being pushed to the brink of annihilation, even the vast Deep Roads themselves conquered, did Dumat turn its attention to the surface.

The Darkspawn did not hesitate as they marched to face the forces of Thedes at the Archdemon's behest. They struck quickly, emerging from the Deep Roads and spreading across the land like wildfire, destroying and twisting everything that couldn't move. The trees, the grass and the very dirt itself was corrupted by the taints touch.

And those that could move, they stood and fought. Age after age, man and elf struggled in vain to repel and defeat the invasion.

Centuries passed as generations of brave men and women fought and died to stem the tide.

The Blight was relentless.

Until an order of seasoned warriors took in the darkspawn blood, filling their being with the very taint they sought to defeat.

The Grey Wardens were formed on that day. The finest battlers the lands of Thedes had ever seen. They descended upon the darkspawn, riding on the wings of mighty griffons, each Warden standing their own against a dozen Darkspawn.

One cause and one duty.

They fought to defeat the darkspawn.

And defeat them they did. Dumat was slain and the Wardens carved their own legend. And when the Old Gods rose another three times throughout the ages, another three more times did the Grey Wardens push back and vanquish the unending wave of Blight, plucking each Archdemon from the sky and ending its reign.

Peace slowly ensued and the darkspawn slowly retreated, back to the tunnels to seek out another Old God. Relentlessly they followed the song. And come the time when the Grey Wardens were all but forgotten, the sacrifices they had made all but ignored, was Urthemiel, the dragon of beauty, taken by the taint and woken to usher in a new age of Blight.

The very moment that Archdemon woke it let out an unworldly roar, the likes of which the deep roads had sorely forgotten.

The very stone itself shook and rattled, crumbling down from brittle walls and weak rock alike as the roar echoed down tunnel after tunnel, coming to a faint end at what was a sphere like cavern, with little but moss covered walls and cracked walls – wounds that oozed trickles of water. And, surprisingly for those darkspawn infested roads, sitting just shy of the center was the only living creature for leagues: a lone dwarf.

With one very unique limb: a pitch black arm - clearly demonic - with razor sharp claws, not unlike those of an animal, and dense, thick scaled skin.

The mysterious dwarf sat upon the dirt floor and listened to the bellowing god. He could hear the thinly veiled words.

The compulsion to obey was growing stronger. But, there was something fighting for him. It was soothing, like a mother. It sung softly yet ever louder than the Old God. The dwarf closed his eyes and listened.

Before him the lyrium writhed. Two twisting roots spiraled around the other, twisting and twisting to the roof. He had liked to think of them as the caverns support pillar – two strong beams, joined in an effort to hold up the earth. Still, he knew the truth.

The Archedemon roared again, the cavern caught the thundering sound and rocked, and the vein responded; it danced and sung.

As the tremors ceased and the veins soft singing – the fight for dominance had been won again – returned to a steady a hum, the dwarf's arm throbbed. Not in pain, he noticed, but in recognition. Like a beacon the tainted arm drew a familiar entity through the caverns roof.

It was no man, nor woman, and neither was it living: it was a wisp. The entity, better suited to the realms of the Fade, swayed back and forth as its glowing, cloud like body rolled and stretched out, before condensing again to its original shape. The Lyrium vein welcomed it's presence with its ever soft voice – singing words that mortal ears can never comprehend.

Slowly the wisp floated down to join the dwarf. Then, as if communicating in its own language, the wisp began moving from side to side erratically, mist spiking out before gradually, slowly, rejoining with the thick, cloudy center.

And the dwarf nodded, answering the wisp's convulsions. "Yes, I believe it is happening," he said. His voice was quiet - restrained almost.

The wisp slowly rose to the dwarf's eye level, mist like body rolling and condensing in on itself. It swayed to and fro, dancing before the dwarf, who only sighed and closed his eyes, to hide away the sadness, or maybe the tiny twinge of relief, in his gaze, the demonic limbed dwarf couldn't guess. But he hoped it was the former. "I am sorry my friend. I owe you much. And by the stone may you find what you seek, but my time has come. I can feel it now more than ever. There's no going back this time."

Another roar echoed around the pair, and, not a second later, the wisp shot off faster than prying eyes could follow, disappearing through the stone roof from whence it came.

The lyrium caught the roar and sung.

But this time it was not enough; the vein screamed in what the dwarf knew as pain. The two beams danced and glowed the brightest they had ever glowed in hundreds of years.

Then there was the sound of shattering glass as one Lyrium vein could take no more and exploded into a rain of blue light. The Archedemon screamed in triumph; the remaining spirals song faded to nothing.

"Curious, isn't it?" a voice, not so unfamiliar to the dwarf, said.

An elderly man stood beside the dwarf. He was hunch backed, and clad in an intricate purple robe. Despite the old man appearing from nothing, as if seemingly blinking into existence, the dwarf didn't break his stare from the remaining lyrium vein. "So lost, yet not knowing what it is it seeks," the old man continued, taking his gaze to the dwarf, "not very different from yourself. Elusive things aren't they?" The robed man gestured to the open air. "It's amazing the connection you hold and the effect it has. Baffling to even myself." The old man turned and looked to the caverns entrance. "Truly one of a kind."

And just as the old man had arrived, he abruptly blinked out of existence.

Alone again the demonic limbed dwarf rose, finally, and reluctantly, taking his gaze from the caverns center piece.

There would be no more sleep. No more peace.

And no more singing.


End file.
